Father O’Sullivan smiled, a merry, twinkling humorous old smile. “Faith, I’ll be getting it into some kind of shape,” he promised. “And if we could hear all the prayers sent up to heaven I’m thinking we’d find many a muddled phrase down here straightened out by the holy saints as they carry them up to God’s Throne. And no matter what the muddles are, the answer’s clear enough when it comes.”
And then the door opened and Anne, Tommy, and General Carden walked in.
Muriel gave a little gasp. “I thought you were having tea at Prince’s,” she said.
And Father O’Sullivan, as he watched her face with wicked pleasure, realized—and it did not take a vast amount of sagacity to do so—that one at least of the three was concerned with the story she had just confided to his ears. And as it obviously was not Tommy, and he concluded he might rule out the white-haired military-looking man, it left only the tall, graceful woman who [Pg 226]crossed to a chair by Muriel and began pulling off her gloves.
“We got bored,” said Tommy; “at least Anne did, and we decided to come home to tea. And we met General Carden on the doorstep, and here we all are. And if you’re too flustered for some reason to introduce everybody nicely, I will.”
“Don’t be silly, Tommy,” said Muriel, laughing and recovering her equanimity. “Ring the bell, and we’ll have fresh tea made.”
“No need,” said Tommy. “I saw Morris in the hall and told him.” And he sat down by Father O’Sullivan. General Carden took a chair near Anne.
“I was sorry not to find you at home when I called last Thursday,” he said. “Your servant told me you were at home on Tuesdays.”
“Yes,” said Anne. She hesitated, half doubtful. Then she added: “But perhaps you’ll come another afternoon? At-home days are not very satisfactory. Shall we say Wednesday?”
“I shall be delighted,” returned General Carden. “We had, if I remember rightly, a long argument the last time we met, about a book. Let me see, [Pg 227]what was the author’s name?” He wrinkled his brows, reflective, thoughtful.